Twist of Fate

By Anna Reilly

Alyson Fisher can’t stop living in the past. She is certain a vital part of her died when her husband, Joe, was killed in a tragic car accident two years ago. She can’t find the will to move on and is becoming increasingly reclusive. Her family and friends have been suffocating her with their good intentions and matchmaking ploys. A few months ago she made the bold decision to move across the country, far away from them and all reminders of her past with Joe. She is desperate for a fresh start but when she finds herself injured and alone in the middle of a deadly storm, she realizes that it might be too late.
John Smith can’t remember his past; even his present is muddled at times. He has a sense that he is running from something so he keeps moving from town to town, rarely settling down for longer than a few months. People make him nervous so he avoids human contact as much as possible. He has no identity, no home, no past, and often it seems, no future. He definitely has no hope.
A chance encounter between Alyson and John changes the course of both their lives. As they forge a tentative friendship, they can’t help but wonder if his past will reveal some horrible secret to threaten the tenuous progress they’ve made.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Reilly
• Release date: Mar 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370182329

Anna Reilly

Anna Reilly lives in Newfoundland, Canada with her extraordinary husband of 20+ years. She has a BA in English Literature from Memorial University of Newfoundland and an MBA from the University of Leicester in England. When she isn’t busy burning the midnight oil writing, she enjoys painting, hiking, photography, travel and gourmet-ish cooking. And chocolate. TWIST OF FATE is her first novel.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Thank you to the talented authors of Romancing the Rock for hosting the EXPOsed Conference in September 2016. Your willingness to share your knowledge and experiences was inspiring. I left the event feeling empowered and determined to write and publish a book. And here I am. Thank you to the local authors (especially Candace and Kate) who answered my questions and provided encouragement these past few weeks; you kindly helped me navigate these unfamiliar waters of independent publishing.

Derek - Merci for providing insight into policing matters referenced in this story. Any errors or misrepresentations are mine!

Ted - Thank you for suggesting the title for the book. I was stuck and you saved the day! Squirrel!

Leeland - Love and gratitude for helping me work through the logistics of this story idea. You are a fabulous sounding board and a phenomenal partner in life!

Lori-Ann, Judy, Ted, Cindy, Heidi, Camille, Charlene, Marguerite, Vanessa and Derek - Deep appreciation to my early readers for your invaluable feedback and suggestions. And for your encouragement!! Special thanks to my sister-in-law Lori-Ann for being my unofficial editor. I look forward to returning the favour one day soon!

Leeland, Riley and Mom (the best for last) - Heartfelt thanks and love to the loves of my life for always believing in me and enduring my endless chatter about this project. Your support and encouragement make every day extraordinary and no dream too far out of reach. I am blessed and grateful.

Book cover design by SelfPubBookCovers.com/Daniela.

For Dad. I miss you every day. I hope you somehow know my dreams are coming true.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Bio

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Alyson stifled the scream that tore through her chest and threatened to disrupt the stillness of the surrounding forest. She stopped dead in her tracks, almost losing her footing on the uneven terrain and quickly grabbed at a nearby branch to maintain her balance. There was a man standing less than ten feet from her. She had no warning at all that he was there until she glanced up and saw him, standing completely still, watching her. He was a hulking, unkempt presence in her otherwise tranquil morning hike. He looked disheveled and grubby and she couldn’t imagine what he was doing roaming these woods in the middle of November. Probably nothing good. He was carrying a huge backpack, the kind that mountain climbers and hikers carry on long treks. He was dressed in what looked like army surplus clothing; an oversized khaki parka, canvas pants and battered hiking boots. His clothing looked worn and in desperate need of a laundromat or trash bin. His face was concealed behind a thick, black beard and he wore a dark knit hat pulled low over his forehead.

The fleeting impression that he looked almost as startled as she felt did little to comfort her. He seemed glued to the spot, warily watching her, presumably to see what she might do next. She wasn’t sure what to do. She had never encountered people in these woods before. The trails were seldom used and didn’t form part of the popular coastal trail system. Her heart was pounding so fast she could feel it throbbing in her head. The roar of blood coursing through her veins was deafening as it pulsated in her ears.

She figured she had two options. She could continue hiking or turn around and run like hell back to her house. If she walked past him she would be walking even deeper into the woods and she was already at least two kilometers from home. Plus she really didn’t want to get that close to him. The path was narrow and he was big. If she turned back she would be walking in the same direction as him and he could potentially follow her right to her doorstep. She sincerely doubted that she could outrun him. She didn’t want him knowing where she lived.

For the first time since moving here, she regretted that she hadn’t made friends in the area. No one knew where she was this morning. No one would miss her or know she was gone, not until her family or best friend tried to reach her. That might be days from now. She was a loner by choice and now she was alone with a stranger who might be harmless or any number of horrible, terrifying things. She had no way of knowing.

She decided to pass by him and keep hiking, even though she had been planning to turn back soon. There was a storm forecasted to hit later that day and the meteorologists were warning it was going to be nasty, bringing heavy snow and winds, creating whiteout conditions that could last for days. She did not want to get caught in that mess. She figured if she walked for another twenty minutes and then trekked back, there’d be enough distance between her and the stranger by then that she would be safe. Unless he followed her deeper into the woods. The thought slammed into her and made her shiver as an icy rivulet of fear raced down her spine.

She moved forward slowly but steadily, keeping her eyes on the stranger except for the occasional glance down at the forest floor every few steps to ensure she didn’t trip on the root of a tree. He didn’t move, just stood silently watching her as she edged toward him. As she got closer she was startled to notice that he seemed every bit as unnerved as she was feeling.

Excuse me, she murmured, her voice barely more than a squeak as she passed by him, their coats brushing on the narrow trail.

Ma’am, was his gruff reply, his voice deep and rusty as though unused for a long time.

He was bigger than she initially thought, at least six feet in height and while he didn’t smell as bad as she had expected, he did emanate a discernable odour of neglect. He definitely had been nowhere near a washing machine or shower in the past few weeks. Again she wondered what he was doing in the backwoods of Newfoundland on the precipice of winter. No one in their right mind would camp in these forests this late in the season, assuming he was camping. He certainly didn’t belong to her neighbourhood. She hadn’t made much of an effort to meet the neighbours in the past eight months since moving here, but she knew it was an affluent area and many of the residents were doctors, lawyers and business professionals. All had access to indoor plumbing.

She glanced back over her shoulder to see if he was following her. He was still standing in the same spot but had turned and was watching her walk away. She picked up her pace and hurriedly put distance between them, not slowing until she had scaled a large hill and could see that he had not followed her. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and continued at a more moderate pace. She hoped she had made the right decision choosing to walk deeper into the forest. The nagging reminder that she was actually walking further away from help should she need it kept reverberating in her brain. She also prayed that he wasn’t lurking somewhere nearby waiting for her to turn back. If he meant her any harm he probably would have done something by now. A twinge of guilt emerged from the blanket of fear, and she silently berated herself for judging him based on his appearance. She didn’t know his story. He might simply be down on his luck with no one to offer a hand back up. Regardless, when she noticed the broken branch a few feet ahead she picked it up. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was better than nothing at all.

She pushed the stranger from her mind and inevitably Joe, her beloved late husband, slipped into her thoughts, the only place where he still lived. He was the reason she had moved across the country from British Columbia to this little town on the northern tip of Newfoundland’s Avalon Peninsula. Her family and friends, though well-meaning, had been driving her to the brink of madness with their unsolicited advice that it was time to move on, time to start dating again. They didn’t understand. There was no one else for her. Joe was her one and only. She had never believed in the soul-mate nonsense or the concept of true love. Until she met Joe. The way she felt about him changed the way she felt about everything. No one had ever loved her like Joe. No one ever would. They had created amazing memories in their six short years together. Losing him had been the most difficult thing she had ever experienced. She almost hadn’t survived it and many days she had sought the refuge of her bed. At times she had prayed that she would die too but her prayers went unanswered. The sun kept rising and setting to mark the passing of time. Here she was, still living, even if she was a shell of her former self.  

She could recall every detail of the day he had been killed. She had gotten home from work first as she usually did and popped a chicken in the oven. She had been placing plates on the table of their uptown condo when the doorbell rang. In retrospect, there had been no ominous tone to the peal of the bell. Even when she opened the door to find two police officers standing on her doorstep, she hadn’t thought to feel panicked or alarmed. When they asked her to confirm she was Alyson Fisher she calmly nodded in the affirmative. Whey they asked if they could come in, she stepped aside allowing them to walk past her into the small entryway of her condo. She remembered them removing their hats and shuffling their feet. They didn’t quite make eye contact with her. Then they spoke the words that she had known were coming but didn’t want to hear. Joe had been hit broadside by another driver. A drunk driver she would learn later. She heard the words and on some level she understood what they meant. Yet she stood in her front hallway blankly staring at them, remotely detached. She could remember being transfixed by the up and down movement of the younger officer’s Adam’s apple as he fought to contain his emotions while the senior officer, with regret, told her of her husband’s death. Her Joe. Gone. Her first rational thought was to usher them out of her home and close the door. Reset. Make them go away and make the bad news somehow undo itself. She may have even said so out loud. She wasn’t aware that tears were falling, her own tears, until the young officer placed his hand lightly on her shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort her. He was losing the battle to keep his own emotions at bay and that made her feel marginally less alone in the shock of the horrible news still trying to process in her brain.

She stupidly thought of the chicken. Who would eat it now? She thought of the plans they had made for the coming weekend; they had booked a cottage in the mountains and were going to rent kayaks and hike in the sunshine and make love under the stars. She’d have to cancel. She’d probably lose the deposit. She thought of the thousand mundane little things, to avoid thinking of the overwhelming truth. Her new truth. Life without Joe.

The hours and days immediately following his death were a blur of muddled, disjointed moments. Parents, her sister, relatives from both her and Joe’s side of the family filled her small condo. It was suffocating and reassuring in equal measure. When the blessed numbness of the shock wore away, disbelief, anger and grief swallowed her whole and flattened her. She spent many of those early days sedated, caught in some hazy otherworld where the lines between reality and fantasy were completely obscured. Joe still existed in that pseudo-dream-world. She wanted to stay there with him forever.

But the living must live, or so she was repeatedly told, and slowly her persistent family and friends pulled her back into the light. Into the pain. Into the oppressive fear and sadness of existing in a world without Joe. She started seeing a therapist. She enrolled in grief counseling. She returned to her job as an editor with a large publishing house. But nothing had meaning. The condo was no longer a home; it was a constant reminder of all that was lost. She couldn’t focus at work. She didn’t want to socialize or spend time with anyone who wasn’t Joe. She tried for almost a year to go through the motions of the life they had built together in Vancouver. It simply didn’t work without him. Her life as she knew it was over. She had to get out of the condo and Vancouver. She felt strongly that the only thing that would help her, the only chance she had to start fresh was to make a radical change. Against the advice of her family, friends and therapist, she sold the condo and moved five thousand kilometers east to rural Newfoundland.

She chose Newfoundland based on a feeling. She had stumbled across a tourism ad online showcasing the whimsy of brightly coloured houses set against wind swept shorelines. That ad spoke to her. Everyone thought she was mad to move so far away and perhaps it wasn’t the most well thought out decision she had ever made, but it felt right. Her gut was telling her to go. It was the first time she had felt hopeful since Joe had died.

She made the move completely on her own, refusing help from her parents and her sister Sydney. Her best friend Lois had begged to go with her to find a house and get settled, but Alyson was firm in her resolve to take care of everything herself. She loved her family. She loved Lois. But she couldn’t breathe around them. They looked at her with so much hope and expectation and she was tired of disappointing them. On some level she knew she was being selfish. She knew that she was being cruel. For the preservation of her own sanity she needed the time and distance from those who loved her. She also knew none of them would approve of the choices she was about to make. They would expect her to choose the security and convenience of a condo in the city. That was the last thing she wanted. She craved windswept shorelines.

She arrived in Newfoundland early spring and stayed in a cozy bed and breakfast in downtown St. John’s for the first few weeks. She had looked at several houses in the city but as charmed as she was by the seaside capital that melded centuries old architecture with cutting edge modern design, she simply didn’t want to be surrounded by people. She asked her realtor to check for places outside the city. She found the perfect spot just north of St. John’s. It was a big house for one person but she loved the country setting and the remoteness of the location. The house was a mere twenty-minute drive from the east end of St. John’s but she felt as though she was in the middle of some vast wilderness.

Her new home was built on a small cliff overlooking the ocean with forest on the north side. The shoreline she had lusted after was virtually in her backyard. She had to compromise on the brightly coloured clapboard though. Her new abode was an uninspired charcoal grey with lighter grey brick detailing. Perhaps she’d change that in a few years. Her nearest neighbour was at least a kilometer away and her house was the last one on the narrow country road. The hustle and bustle of city life didn’t reach into her small corner of the world jutting into the North Atlantic. The second story master bedroom, located at the rear of the house, had a private deck with a spectacular ocean view. It was her favourite spot in the house to watch the sun sinking into the sea every night. Everything about it was perfect. She had craved solitude and isolation; now she had both. Though in this moment she questioned the sanity of her decision. What if that stranger had been intent on harming her in some way? She would have been completely at his mercy. The thought frightened her.

She grunted as she realized that she actually felt fear for her safety and well-being. That was new. She had spent so much time wishing she had died along with Joe that she felt a bit gob smacked to realize she did care about waking up tomorrow. On the darkest days since losing Joe she had thought about how easy it would have been to take a handful of pills, go to sleep and never wake up. But then she’d think of her parents and Syd and Lois. Following that path would have destroyed them and even she wasn’t selfish enough to hurt them like that. She also knew that Joe would be disappointed in her giving up on life if he could see her from some afterworld. He would be sad to see how withdrawn she had become, how isolated. How bitter. He would have wanted her to live. She knew that; she’d always known that. He would want her to not simply exist, as she had been these past two years since his death; no, he would want her to do something with her life. Something meaningful. He would want her to thrive. She felt a pang of sadness that he would never hold her in his arms again. And she felt shame at the thought that seeing her hollow life would disappoint him. She quietly resolved to try harder. To make a friend. To sign up for a class in art or photography or cooking. To find a part-time job or volunteer. Maybe she would get a dog, a companion and protector.

A surge of emotion pushed through her. She raised her face toward the sky and let her tears mix with the fat snowflakes that were falling all around her. It was time to go back home. Not to Vancouver but to the new home she had made in this windswept, rugged land that often felt like it was perched on the edge of the earth. It was time to find a purpose. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with her wool mittens and glanced at her watch. Twenty-two minutes had elapsed since her encounter with the stranger. It should be safe to go back now. She carefully picked her steps as the falling snow quickly transformed her world into a postcard worthy winter wonderland. She felt the tug of a smile lift the corners of her mouth as she deeply inhaled the earthy scent of pine and conifers mixing with the frosty air.

Chapter 2

John stood staring after the blue-eyed woman for long moments after she scurried past him on the trail. He had felt like a jerk when she had looked back and realized he was following her progress with his eyes. She had hastened her step and he felt like a proper prick for scaring her.

He was certain she was the woman from the